I always said I wanted a big family. I said that I could always, always have a baby in the house. That was a big part of why I really wanted a VBAC with Piper because I didn’t want to have another c-section and be told that it wasn’t safe to have any more babies.
A month ago we were actively trying to get pregnant. I’d plotted out my fertile days and I was hoping that it would be a lucky month. The two week wait started and I was trying not to get crazy about it. Which is a hard ask, but I was doing ok with limbo land. About a week into it, I woke up one morning and I didn’t want to be pregnant. I didn’t want to have any more kids. I was just done. And I spent the rest of the two week wait praying to not be pregnant.
I had a scare that month because my period started 5 days early and was really light at first. And it started to feel like I would be looking at another pregnancy. Having had two glorious babies I could never not want a baby. But I was very torn. And I spent a lot of time crying and taking twilight photos. And when the two week wait I did three pregnancy tests before I was satisfied that it really was negative and I wasn’t pregnant.
In hindsight, that morning that I woke up was probably the start of realising that I was actually quite severely depressed. Which has nothing to do with my children. They are like magic. Even when everything is dark, they light up everything.
And I grieved for the life I always thought that I had wanted. I grieved not because I didn’t think I could do it, but because I didn’t want it anymore.
We have two beautiful girls. I love their age gap. They are great friends and play with one another most of the time. Piper is about a year or so away from preschool and Riley is a year away from Kindergarten. And I could sense that I could close this chapter of intense stay at home motherhood and open a new chapter. That we would be able to worry less about making enough money and focus more on the lifestyle that we wanted. And yes, even that I would not have to be pregnant again. Not have to put my body through that. And not have to work my ass off to get my body back to a shape that I recognise.
For awhile I thought that maybe it was just the depression talking. And that once I started to feel better those feelings of wanting more babies would return. But the better I feel, the more sure I am that our family is complete. That there isn’t another baby waiting for us.
I always thought I would want to know beforehand when it was going to be my last pregnancy, my last baby, my last time breastfeeding, my last time with a wee little baby in the house. But if I had known with Piper I wouldn’t have done anything differently. I cherished all of her babyness from the beginning and still do with the last traces of it as a toddler. I was able to mother her without worrying about working or weaning and I loved how much she liked being worn by me everywhere.
Strangely, I remember right after she was born thinking to myself that I could never do that again. And of course, if I really wanted to I could. And as she grew I forgot about it and didn’t pay it any attention. But now I think maybe something in me just knew that she was my last baby.
I would never close the door entirely. A few years may pass and I want us to be able to change our minds.
I always wanted to have that feeling that women say they have of being done. And even though I often said I could never imagine feeling that after only two babies, I am there. I love our family of four. It feels total and whole and complete. And no doubt I will unapologetically baby Piper, because she is my last baby.